


vignettes

by heartsways



Category: Holby City
Genre: F/F, flirtatious banter, lady surgeons in love, special appearance from serena's hat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-24
Updated: 2017-01-24
Packaged: 2018-09-19 16:42:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,747
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9450737
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heartsways/pseuds/heartsways
Summary: snapshots of bernie and serena, apropos of nothingtumblr repost





	

**1.  Nomenclature**

 

 

"So, what are we?" Serena asks one night when they're in bed.  She's trying not to watch Bernie read and failing miserably.  Her own book is open on her lap; her gaze is fixed on Bernie's features, following each line and committing it to memory.  It's far more enthralling than the thriller she promised Jason she'd read because he wanted her opinion on the rather gory injuries in it.

 

Bernie's head turns, her mouth opening and closing wordlessly.  It's the first thing anyone's said in ten minutes and she's caught a little off guard by Serena's question.  She frowns, faintly amused.  "Serena, are you having an existential crisis?"

 

Serena's gaze narrows, her eyes crinkling at the corners.  She closes her book with a deliberate slowness, laying her palm over the cover.  Bernie tries to suppress a smile - not very well - because she loves Serena when she's like this: prosaic with a touch of prim around the edges.  She's ever so slightly schoolmarmish and, god help her, Bernie finds it shamefully attractive.

 

"The other day, Jason asked me if you were my girlfriend," Serena finally says.  Her voice has that flat tone of disapproval and Bernie's smile becomes even more evident.

 

"Oh?  And what did you tell him?"

 

"I told him I was busy and didn't have time to talk."  Serena turns her head, looks down at the book in her lap and taps her finger on the cover a few times.  She puts it onto the bedside table, her lips in a firm line.  It wasn't her finest hour, she admits regretfully.

 

"So...you panicked, then," Bernie states.  She knows she shouldn't tease - it's not like Bernie's the font of all knowledge when it comes to their relationship - but the flush that burns briefly across the top of Serena's cheeks only makes her laugh softly.  She doesn't know when she began to notice Serena's behaviour, her nature, her habits.  It might have happened slowly over glasses of wine or days in the ward spent watching and figuring out who Serena is.  Or maybe, Bernie thinks, there was always a part of her that recognised Serena, right from the start.

 

"I didn't panic, exactly," Serena begins in scant protest, eyes wide as she looks at Bernie, who cocks her head onto one side and smiles dubiously back at her.  Shoulders sagging, Serena lets out a sigh and gives up the pretence of hiding anything from Bernie.  There really seems like very little point anymore.  She'll only end up telling her anyway.

 

"Alright, I panicked," she relents, and Bernie gives a tiny hum of delight.  "Well, honestly, Bernie - girlfriends?  Is that what we are?  I don't know about you but I haven't been a girl for over twenty years.  And I know that we're friends - of course we are - but we're more than that and I - if I don't know what we are then how can I explain to Jason?"

 

"Do you need to explain?" Bernie asks, eyebrows disappearing under her fringe.  "I mean - is that important to you?  Giving us a name?"

 

Serena opens her mouth but nothing comes out.  She looks a little lost, like she can't decide between not caring and caring too much.  Either way, she looks rather flummoxed.

 

"How about this," Bernie says gently, and reaches for Serena's hand.  "Next time Jason asks what we are, you can tell him we're perfect for one another and leave it at that.  Because if you and I think that we are, then not much else really matters."

 

"Berenice Wolfe," Serena says, a little breathlessly, "I never took you for such a romantic."  But when she presses a palm to her chest and mock-swoons, Bernie's mouth twists in slight offence.

 

"I have hidden depths," she tells Serena huffily.

 

"Oh, really?" Serena hums.  Her gaze becomes dark and her thumb brushes over the back of Bernie's hand.  "There are some women who find that sort of thing very hard to resist."

 

"Yes, I know," Bernie nods solemnly.  "And if you're one of them, you probably shouldn't even try."

 

The twinkle in her eyes is enough to have Serena snatching the book from Bernie's lap and throwing it unceremoniously to one side as she leans in.  "I may be as stubborn as a mule - "

 

"Understatement," Bernie murmurs gently.

 

" - but as a seasoned veteran I'm sure you can understand when it's wise to concede defeat," Serena finishes, her lips inches from Bernie's.

 

"Nice analogy," Bernie says as her fingers burrow beneath the bedclothes to press against Serena's leg.  "Maybe you should tell Jason that the next time he asks."

 

"Maybe you should shush and kiss me," Serena says.  As Bernie does just that, Serena knows that what they are is this, just this.  And it's perfect.

 

 

***

 

 

**2\. Paresis**

 

 

 

Bernie's been snappish all day and has already barked Morven into a wary huddle behind the nurses' station.  By the time she marches inside the office and closes the door, a palpable sigh of relief goes around the ward from staff and patients alike.  Fletch jokes that she looks like she's on the warpath but nobody laughs and Serena gives him _A Look_ that wipes the smile from his face.  He suddenly finds something to do across the ward and Raf, equivocal as always, suggests Serena find out what's happening before there are any real casualties of Bernie's rapid-fire admonishment.

 

When Serena enters, Bernie's slumped in her chair behind the desk, pinching at the bridge of her nose.  Her gaze balefully follows Serena as she draws up a chair by the corner of the desk and sinks into it.

 

"Don't," Bernie says sharply.  "I know what you're going to say."

 

"Oh?" Serena straightens.

 

Bernie looks at her, so pained that Serena's features crumple into a frown of concern.  "I've been horrible.  I know.  I'm - I'm sorry."

 

"Well, it's not me you have to apologise to," Serena says calmly. 

 

"I know," Bernie nods tightly.

 

"I mean, poor Morven's stricken at the thought she's somehow offended you."

 

"Yes, I _know_ , okay?"  Bernie forces the words out through gritted teeth and sucks in an audible breath.  When it comes out, her shoulders drop and she swallows a couple of times before facing Serena.  "Bad day.  You know how it is."

 

Serena hums in acknowledgement but she can't ignore the lines that are still on Bernie's face.  "We've had worse.  What's really going on?"

 

Bernie glowers at her and Serena blinks, implacably unmoved as though dealing with a difficult patient.  The thought doesn't improve Bernie's mood much; if she's honest with herself.  She knows her stuff inside out when it comes to medicine but when it comes to herself she's frustrated at the length of the healing process.  Especially on days when she feels mortally wounded.

 

"Look," Serena says kindly, peering into Bernie's eyes, "why don't you come for dinner tonight?  We can talk about it then, if you'd prefer.  You can stay the night.  If you - if you want, of course."  

 

It's not that Serena expects rejection, but she does like to be prepared for it.  In their profession, they know that broken things can be mended even when all seems lost.  They've brought people back from the brink of death time and again.  But a mended heart always feels more susceptible to pain and Serena knows hers is weak for Bernie.  She doesn't want to break so easily again - or at all - but the way she feels about Bernie has her fearful as to what might happen should it all end.

 

"Serena," Bernie starts slowly, "I can't - that is - "

 

"Okay," Serena cuts in, overly dismissive.  "It was just a thought."

 

"It's a lovely, tempting thought," Bernie tells her, words coming out in a rush.  "And I'd be more than happy to - I just...can't."

 

She looks torn, her secrets slipping from the stronghold she fought to build so that nobody would hurt her.  So that she wouldn't hurt anyone else.  When Serena nods and moves to rise from the chair, Bernie flings out her arm, fingers closing over Serena's wrist.

 

"I don't sleep," she blurts out.  Her eyes are wild enough to make Serena pause, looking down at the grasp on her arm before she lowers herself back into the chair.  Bernie lets go and tries to compose herself.  But all she can do is shake her head and shrug.  "I don't sleep," she says again, defeated.

 

"This isn't about you snoring and hogging the covers, is it?"  Serena's voice is gentle.  "Because I'm willing to overlook that.  Even if I do wake up freezing while you're wrapped in a duvet, at least I wake up with you."

 

The smile on her face is almost enough to make Bernie feel better.  She huffs out a half-hearted laugh and shakes her head again, taking a couple of deep breaths over the anxiety like a fist in her chest.

 

"I've been having nightmares," Bernie finally confesses.  "Not - not every night.  But sporadically...occasionally, really."

 

"Nightmares?  About?"

 

"People, surgeries.  The ones I saved.  The ones I didn't."  Bernie's gaze is steady as she waits for Serena's reaction.  Telling her this is hard enough; Bernie can't imagine telling Serena what horrors really lurk in her head, waiting for sleep so they can eviscerate her dreams.  She frowns.  "After all this time...it seems so odd that I should think about it now."

 

"Perhaps you're far enough away from it to remember," Serena suggests, leaning back in her chair.  "People who suffer under traumatic circumstances often repress the memories until they're ready to confront them."  

 

"But it wasn't traumatic for me," Bernie protests weakly.  "It was my job and yes, it was hard sometimes but this work we do often is and I...I got through it."

 

Serena can tell it's a lie.  Her lips press into a firm line of doubt and Bernie clenches her back teeth together.  Really, she thinks, it's infuriating that there's nowhere to hide from this.  From her.  But Bernie doesn't talk about it with anyone because people who weren't there can't understand.  They'd never really be able to comprehend the chaos and destruction and the noise of war, never mind the blood that stains everything Bernie ever touches.

 

"It was an endless adrenalin rush," Serena tells her, "and that takes its toll after a while.  I don't know what it was like out there but I do know you.  And, sometimes, we need to treat the symptoms before we can treat the disease."

 

"What do you mean?" 

 

"Nightmares aren't as frightening when there's someone else there," Serena explains.  She takes one of Bernie's hands in her own and holds it tightly.  "Come for dinner.  Stay the night.  If only for the sake of not biting everyone's head off tomorrow."

 

"Serena - I couldn't ask - "  Bernie's voice is thick and she looks down at her hand, safe and warm between Serena's.

 

"You didn't.  I offered.  Different thing entirely."  Serena's voice is so brisk that Bernie can't help the wan smile that spreads over her lips.  She's learned when to relinquish control, especially when it comes to Serena.  It feels good, she thinks, to trust someone again.  Bernie thought she'd forgotten how.

 

"Do you really think I'm ready to confront it?" she asks, wondering at the idea, that she might be free of the guilt that's shaped every success with the sharp edges of failure.

 

"It's not my area of expertise, I'm afraid," Serena intones gently.  "But I know what it's like to feel helpless and alone.  I'm reminding you that you're not, whatever your nightmares are telling you."  She squeezes Bernie's hand and sees relief swimming in those dark, earnest eyes.  They stare at one another before Serena nods, letting go of Bernie's hand and rising, heading for the door.

 

"That's not the only thing I feel, though."  The sound of Bernie's voice makes Serena turn and she's met with a sheepish expression she's seen a hundred times before on Bernie's face.  Only, now, Serena knows what it means.  These things don't come easily to them both - the words that need to be said but have so rarely ever been voiced.  So she waits while Bernie frowns over what she believes to be true.

 

"Serena, I hope you know that I'm - I'm happy now.  Happier than I've ever been, really.  With this.  With us."  

 

Serena beams at her and Bernie sighs thankfully.  _At last_ , she thinks, she's said something right.  Better not to spoil a good thing and say too much.  Or too little.

 

"Then stay tonight.  We can take Jason out for breakfast somewhere.  Just give me the chance to be helpful - to be there for you."

 

Bernie grunts.  "You won't be saying that when I wake you up in the middle of the night," she says grimly.

 

"I won't be saying anything," Serena retorts.  "You'll be the one doing the talking.  About whatever you like, as long as you talk to me."

 

"Careful, this is beginning to sound like a real relationship," Bernie folds her arms over her chest as Serena rolls her eyes and tuts under her breath.

 

"Yes, I'm glad you got the memo about that," she states dryly.  "Right, I'll see you later, then, and...thank you."

 

"For what?" Bernie's head jerks back on her neck.

 

Serena smiles so benevolently and radiantly that Bernie's sure it could chase even the darkest shadows away.  She feels a tiny thrill at the thought: a stab of hope that might become courage, eventually, to face the things she's ignored and compartmentalised away.

 

"For trusting me," Serena tells her.

 

 

 

***

 

 

**3\. Resuscitation**

 

 

 

"I can't find my hat," Serena says, dashing past Bernie and into the living room where she resembles a humming bird in human form, overturning couch cushions and even peering down the back of the radiator.  "This is Jason's fault," she spits, on a fly past at top speed.

 

"He doesn't like your hat," Bernie says, earning a hard glare from Serena.  She shrugs it off, folding her arms and leaning against the doorway.  "Well, he doesn't.  He says it makes you look like Lenin."

 

"Thank you," Serena sings out, spinning around in the centre of the room in case there are any obvious hiding places that she's missed.  "Sometimes I wish Jason would keep his opinions to himself.  And his hands.  I've told him time and again not to touch my things..."

 

She throws up her hands, growling in frustration.  Today, of all days.  Serena wants today to be perfect.  No: she _needs_ it to be better than that.  Everything has to go right and her stupid bloody hat has become, unfortunately, a necessary item that's already gone wrong.

 

"Well, that's it then," Serena says, hands slapping back onto her thighs.  "We'll have to cancel.  We can't go.  You'll have to tell Charlotte there's been an emergency."

 

"A hat emergency?" Bernie muses, annoying calm.  "I'm not entirely sure that qualifies.  And I don't think you look like Lenin, by the way.  In fact," she adds with a little incline of her head, "I'm rather fond of that hat."

 

"So am I," Serena forces out, nostrils flaring.  "I'll kill Jason when I get my hands on him.  Today's already been ruined and we haven't even left the house!"

 

"Okay, okay," Bernie says, wandering into the room and putting her hands onto Serena's upper arms, holding them firmly.  She bends a little, looking into Serena's face.  "But this isn't about the hat - however nice it is.  Is it?"

 

Serena looks panicked, gaze casting around the room before it returns to Bernie.  She's breathing in short, little gusts and her complexion is pale.  If Bernie didn't know any better, she'd think Serena was having a panic attack.  But Serena doesn't panic: she rants.  She goes on at length and gets it out of her system.  It's healthy, if a little alarming.

 

But this is different.  Bernie can feel Serena trembling and says her name softly, comfortingly.

 

"We don't have to go."

 

"Of course we do," Serena snaps, and regrets it instantly when she sees Bernie rear back in surprise.  "She's your daughter, Bernie.  You've waited ages for this."

 

"If it's making you uncomfortable I can wait a little longer," Bernie reassures her, "and so can Charlotte.  It's just lunch."

 

She says it so casually that Serena gulps and shakes her head.  "No, it's not _just_ anything.  Your daughter calls you out of the blue and wants to meet up and you decide to go along with me in tow.  It's hardly the family reunion of the year, is it?"

 

"No, it's lunch," Bernie insists.  Her thumbs brush over the material of Serena's blouse before she lets go and stands back.  "Serena, why are you making this into a much bigger thing than it needs to be?  Charlotte knows we're together.  Or is that what's bothering you?  Being out together.  Um, as it - as it were."

 

Serena sighs impatiently.  "It's not about you and me.  I'm not ashamed of anything."  She's defiant enough to bring a smile to Bernie's lips and the sight of it helps a little.  "It's really rather a case of..." 

 

Serena breathes and tries to remember the list she'd recited in her head late at night when she worried the most.  It all amounts to the same thing - the thing she strives to be free of every day.  Her mother never let her forget.  Even now, Serena can still hear her voice echoing at the back of her mind.  It never really went away.

 

"What if she doesn't like me?" she blurts anxiously.

 

"Charlotte?" Bernie asks, then grunts equivocally.  "She's twenty one.  She doesn't like anybody."

 

"Yes, but what if she doesn't like _me_?" Serena says again.  She wrings her hands together then clasps them against her stomach, bending a little.  "I don't get nervous around young people.  I never have.  But I know I can sometimes be...well...less than impressive.  And I quite desperately - stupidly - want to impress her."

 

She rolls her eyes, laughing self-consciously.  "What if she doesn't think I'm good enough for her hero of a mother?"

 

"You might be overestimating what Charlotte thinks of me," Bernie hums, but her hand reaches out and takes Serena's.  It's nothing, really, just a gentle touch, a connection.  Serena takes a deep breath, lets it out slowly.  Because it's everything.

 

"What if she doesn't think I'm good enough, full stop?"  Serena's head drops to her chest and she's filled with a sudden flare of anger at herself, at feeling this way at all.  But this is what happens when you build a life on shaky ground: one rumble of self-doubt and discomfort, and everything comes crashing down on top of you, she thinks.

 

Bernie laughs incredulously and shakes her head.  Serena's gaze lifts fearfully to meet her own and Bernie is struck by how vulnerable Serena is.  It runs right through the very heart of her and, now she's seen it, Bernie doesn't know if she can ever look away because it's beautiful, as Serena is.  As Bernie knows her to be.

 

"I'm not usually like this," Serena admits with a wince of painful confession.  "I've worked so hard not to be like this, actually.  I'm not known for being easily intimidated," she scoffs, with a spark of bravado that soon fades away.  "But I'm under no illusions about the fact that I'm the woman who took Charlotte's mother away."

 

"Not true," Bernie remonstrates.  " _I'm_ the woman who took her mother away.  Me.  You, Serena Campbell, are the woman who brought me back.  That's literally the opposite of not good enough.  I mean, you're probably too good."

 

Serena's mouth twists dubiously and she says nothing.  But her rigid stance and the way her eyes are glistening makes Bernie squeeze her hand and draw her closer.

 

"Serena, you have so many things to be proud of.  You're the most - the most wonderful, talented, infuriating woman I've ever met."  Bernie's words are slow and ponderous, rich with how she feels and how it bleeds into everything.  It's life-giving; the importance and relevance of love.  She understands that now in a way she never really did before.  It trickles through and between them like an infusion of safety and comfort.

 

"Charlotte's going to feel however she feels," Bernie continues, sympathy in her gaze as Serena blinks silently back at her.  "And that might change, or it might not.  But nothing's going to change how I feel.  Even if you don't wear your hat," she adds with a wicked smirk.

 

"I know it's irrational," Serena breathes, relaxing a little.  She feels so childish, so immature to weigh her worth against the opinions of others, or to allow her frailties to concoct scenarios in which she is the lesser, the unwanted.  Serena knows where all of that comes from, of course.  But, somehow, knowing and being able to do something about it are two very separate things.

 

"It's fine," Bernie soothes.  "And it's going to be fine."

 

"Even without the hat?" Serena asks, eyebrows rising over a grateful gaze.

 

"I'm sure we'll struggle on somehow," Bernie tells her dryly.  Her eyes soften and she squeezes Serena's hand once more then lets go and stands back.  It's always better from a distance, she thinks.  Too close and she might lose herself in Serena's gaze.  "I want you to come, Serena.  I don't know if I can do it without you.  You're not the only one who's a little...apprehensive, shall we say?"

 

"Well then," Serena nods slowly, "if it's a matter of life and death then I suppose I can push through without the hat."

 

"That's the spirit," Bernie proclaims.  "It'll give you something to talk about when conversation grinds to an awkward halt."

 

"Ever the optimist," Serena mutters, following Bernie through to the hallway.  She grabs their coats from the hook and they put them on, smiling at one another in a secretive, intimate way.  Perhaps it doesn't matter if they're both nervous, Serena thinks to herself as Bernie opens the door, as long as they're nervous together.  It's entirely possible that the flaws she feels inside like deep fissures in her soul aren't frightening to Bernie.  It could be that she sees them and accepts them.

 

That might constitute something to be proud of, after all.  Serena follows Bernie out of the house, the front door banging shut behind them.

 

Serena's hat tumbles out from behind a coat and falls onto the floor.

 

 

***


End file.
